Everyone Says I Love You
by HardlyFatal
Summary: Crossover BtVSxHP. BuffySnape. The opposite of love is not hate. The two are actually rather... similar. COMPLETE


**Author's Note:** this fic is dedicated to the wonderful houses. She's been busy and under the weather lately, and deserves a bit of a cheer-up. Hope you like it, houses :)

Will any of you, I wonder, pick up on the famous line from a classic movie? Let me know if you do!

**Everyone Says I Love You**  
by CinnamonGrrl 

Severus dodged a hag as he turned onto Margin Alley on his way to a safe place he could Apparate back to Hogwarts. This part of wizarding London had strange wards on it, making splinching far more likely than usual. It was irritating, but what could you do?

He quickened his step. At this hour, there was no telling what might lurk in the cracks and crevices of the night. For several moments the only sound was the faint swish of his robes and the wet crunch of his boots on the rain-wet paving stones. With his hood up, sallow features thrown into shadow, his identity was unknown.

As he'd intended. The things he'd procured from Augur & Dyre's Omynous Itemmes were safely stowed in his cloak's flowing folds, and with any luck he'd be back at Hogwarts before anyone knew he'd gone in the first place.

But luck was not to be his, that night.

His wand was in his hand, its handle firm and comforting against his palm, and aimed at his first attacker before he'd even fully turned around. With the crystal clarity that comes from an adrenalin spike, Severus immediately identified his assailants as a company of both vampires and ghouls. An unusual combination, to be sure, and Severus was sure Nott and, perhaps, Goyle had had a hand in their formation. Those two had always had a fixation with the undead…

_How they had come to band together was irrelevant,_ he reminded himself, and whirled to the left to catch a ghoul with a hex before his outstretched, rotting hands could even come close to touching Severus.

But even with his fast reflexes and superior duelling talents, Severus was hard-pressed to keep them all at bay by his lonesome. He was strongly put in mind of the performers who spun plates on sticks: after setting the last in motion, one had to rush back to the first to keep it from slowing to the point of crashing to the ground.

So it was in this situation: by the time he disabled or knocked back the last of the group, the first had recovered and was sallying forth once more, intent on mayhem and calamity. Severus blinked a bead of sweat from his eye, ignoring the sting of salt, and realized that deadly peril aside, he was rather enjoying this test of his skills and reflexes.

Thus he was greatly annoyed when _she_ made her appearance, coming out of the night in a whirl of hair and limbs, knocking away the creatures with an ease that was close to effortless. It was pointless for him to continue fighting when _she_ decided to participate, Severus knew, and probably would merely hinder her. With a disappointed sigh, he slipped his wand back in its pocket. Stepping back into the damp shadows thrown by the steep alley walls, he waited until it was over…

…which wasn't long. His opponents were just a few Imperio'd ghouls and vampires, after all, nothing she hadn't sorted easily in the past. When the vampires were dust and the ghouls killed (again) she dusted off her hands with that theatrical touch he despised, and turned to him.

"You let me have all the fun! Aren't you sweet," she commented, her tone somehow both caustic and saccharine at the same time. The swing of her hips as she sauntered his way tried mightily to distract him, but he only tightened the grip of his hands on his crossed arms and pinched his lips more firmly together.

"Why are you here, Summers?" Severus demanded. "You are aware, I am sure, that I am more than perfectly capable of protecting myself. Even Albus has vouched for my competence. Why, then, this persistent nannying on your part?"

"Well, you're kind of important to the whole anti-Voldemort thing," she replied airily, waving her hand in the vague direction she imagined the Dark Lord to be. "What with the espionage and everything. If you got yourself munched on, where would we be?"

Severus had backed up as Buffy advanced, retreating into the shadows that had always hidden him so successfully in the past. A streetlamp shone down on her, streaking her hair a ruddy gold, and the axe loosely gripped in her hand was the only reminder that she was avenger rather than angel. He thought that he'd never seen her look more the bastion for good, a light to kill the dark, at that moment.

Time seemed to slow and stretch, and for one endless second they were caught that way, with him peering out at her. He knew she could see him perfectly well in spite of the murk surrounding him, and a dart of what he was positive was pure dislike shot through him. If he'd wanted her to see him, he wouldn't have slunk back into the shadows.

"Is it entirely sporting, Summers," he drawled, eyes glittering with malice, "to use your advantage against an ally?"

"Allies don't hide from each other," she countered. "And you're _always_ retreating from me, like you think I won't follow you." Another step took her into the shadows with him. At this proximity, she had to look almost directly up at him, tall as he was, and he could barely make out her features. Pinpoints of red flame, reflected from the streetlamps, flickered darkly in her eyes.

An ache started in Severus' chest. Long ago, he'd been convinced his ability to feel the more tender emotions had withered, but there was something about this indomitable girl that made his atrophied heart beat again.

But it was just a feeble little beat, so faint and so long since its last that Severus had only just begun to understand what it was. And with that understanding came the conviction that she was too good for him, too pure, if one compared them. He was tainted, marked, a man in search of redemption and not enjoying much success. They wouldn't suit, not at all.

"You _shouldn't_ follow me," Severus replied, his voice quiet, and his hands came up to rest on her shoulders: lightly at first, then harder, his fingers curling round the fragile-feeling bones and digging through her thin jumper into her skin.

"Where I go is no place for the likes of _you_." He said it with as much contempt as he could muster, but still the thread of desolation came through both loud and clear.

"What do you know about the likes of me?" Buffy replied softly, her lips shaping the words like a kiss. "If you ever actually let me talk to you, you might be surprised. I've done a lot more than you think I have."

There was nothing of the coquette about her as she said this; it was not meant to imply or seduce. Just a statement of fact, plainly and even wearily delivered.

"And if I do not wish to learn more about you?" Severus hissed, wanting nothing so much as to escape, and be caught. _Which is it?_ he wondered to himself. _And why can I not decide?_ "What then?"

Buffy only smiled, white teeth and brittle humour. "You haven't lied to me yet, Snape," she said. "Why start now?"

She stepped closer and then they were aligned down the front, chest to belly to thighs. She brought her own hands up to cup his elbows and leant against him. The warmth of her body against him, through his clothing, was almost shocking and Severus bit his tongue to keep the gasp of surprise and pleasure behind his lips.

"I won't, either," he continued, forging on even though his body was sending chills ofdistaste, yes that was itup his spine. "I won't whisper words of love, and— ah…" His words trailed away as her teeth found his earlobe under the curtain of dark hair, worrying it lightly.

"Good," she murmured, breath moist on his skin. "Everyone says 'I love you', and they still leave." She pulled back and looked at him, gaze like a blade. "I'd rather you tell me you hate me, and stay."

Severus lifted a hand to her face, smoothing away the rigid set of her features, leaving a calm in his wake. "I hate you," he said. "I have since we met."

"I hate you, too," Buffy whispered, rubbing her cheek against his calloused palm. "I hate you so much I think I'm going to die from it." She kissed him then, and it was wild and sweet in a way he never thought he'd know. When she pulled back, her lips were swollen, and he watched them avidly. "You're the biggest pain in the ass I ever met, and that's saying something."

He surprised them both by laughing, head thrown back, his throat exposed. She raked her teeth over his Adam's apple, and his breath caught. Caging her round the waist with his arm, he Apparated them both to the gates of Hogwarts.

"I think I require a demonstration of all this animosity you bear me, Summers," he declared, and cupped her elbow to tow her along in his wake as he strode toward the castle.

Any other time, she might have protested at such treatment. But in this case, she was just as eager to convince him as he was to be convinced, and they swiftly made their way to the dungeons, oblivious to anything but each other.

Thus they saw nothing when Albus Dumbledore turned back to his companion from where he'd been peering round a corner at the departing couple. He said nothing, but beamed his satisfaction brightly at the other man.

"What did I tell you, Rupert?" he asked, giving the Watcher a jovial slap on the back as they retraced their steps to Albus' office. "Drooble's Best Chewing Gum," he announced to the stone gargoyle, and it grated back to allow them passage.

Giles was looking more than slightly queasy, Albus saw, and motioned for Fawkes to alight on his lap and give him a bit of comfort. "I can't believe we just matchmade Buffy," Giles said faintly, his hand coming automatically to stroke the phoenix's feathered back. "With… with _Snape_. It's… inconceivable."

"Not for them, apparently," Albus contradicted gently.

Giles turned a shade more green, and Albus pushed the jar of lemon drops toward him in a mute invitation. Giles popped one into his mouth, then rubbed his face tiredly. "He's just so… so…"

"Clever, brave, and talented?" Albus offered helpfully. "Yes, quite."

"I was going to say 'greasy and foul-tempered'," Giles replied, displaying a bit of foulness of temper of his own. "I honestly can't decide whether Snape is better or worse than her taking up with Spike—"

"Miss Summers clearly has a penchant for the more difficult type of fellow," Albus declared with an expansive gesture. "We all have our quirks, do we not, Rupert?" The movement of his eyebrows seemed to indicate he was saying more than he was saying, and Giles found himself blushing, just a little, to remember his own… youthful indiscretions.

"Er, yes, quite," he said after a moment, and stood up to deposit Fawkes back on his perch. "So, I'll just be off to bed, then."

"Of course, of course," Albus murmured, steepling his fingers under his chin and watching thoughtfully as the other man made his exit. "I will await your cheque for twenty Galleons, shall I? I'm sure you'll get it to me forthwith."

Giles paused in the doorway, one hand tightening on the jamb. "Yes, Albus," he muttered. "You'll get your damned money in the morning. But I'm never wagering on anything with you, ever again."

He left, with what could loosely be termed a flounce, and Albus leant back in his chair and smiled a little smile. He was sorry it had taken winning a bet with the Watcher to open his eyes to the burgeoning romance between his charge and the Potions master, but it was all for the best. And if he'd let slip to Miss Summers the exact whereabouts of Severus that evening, well, it was all in the interests of helping them to be happy. Albus had no need for Giles' hard-earned Galleons, after all.

He held out a hand for Fawkes to perch upon, and smiled more widely. No need at all, but it certainly was nice to have won a little something extra for his troubles.

"Machiavelli had nothing on you," a former headmaster croaked from his portrait, brows beetling disapprovingly over bright black eyes.

"You flatter me," Dumbledore said modestly, and stood to close the musty velvet drapes over the painting's frame. "Now go back to sleep, you nosy old coot."


End file.
